I'm Tired Of Playing Games
by Thorn17
Summary: Set after Sherlock's return. A stressed John is trying to appease his flatmate's brilliant brain, that has recently been rebelling against stagnation again. The doctor suggests that they play a game in order to pass the time and relieve Sherlock's boredom, but a dispute about which game to play soon escalates into another argument entirely, unearthing some underlying issues...
1. Chapter 1

"What's it going to be then, Sherlock?"

The detective was curled up on the couch, wearing his blue silk dressing gown over a pair of off-white pajama trousers made from the same material, and a faded grey t-shirt. He was facing the wall, sulking, and refusing to even look at the items that John was proffering. "None of them. I'm not playing."

John sighed impatiently. "Yes, you are."

Sherlock turned his head to face the doctor, and raised a quizzical eyebrow, challenging John's resolve. "Oh, am I now?" he said, almost threateningly.

Unperturbed, John nodded defiantly. "Yes, you're playing, because if you're going to moan incessantly that everything is boring, then logic says that you can't possibly moan when I find you challenging things to keep your mind active!"

Sherlock scoffed, turned his head and buried his face further into the couch cushions. "I'd hardly call brain training games 'challenging'," he mumbled derisively.

"Fine, forget the brain training games!" John threw the apparently-offensive games onto the couch, narrowly missing the detective's bare feet. "What about a nice game of '_Guess Who?'_"

Sherlock's consequent snarl indicated that - apparently - this question wasn't even worthy of a response. Just like with the brain training games, it was as if the very notion of Sherlock playing them was a personal insult to the detective. John sighed again, resorting to the one thing that he knew would perk the stubborn detective's interest, even if it meant that a night of arguments regarding the rules of the game would be in store for John. "Oh, okay. Okay. What about '_Cluedo_?'"

Sherlock's face reappeared as he turned to face John, turning his back to the sofa cushions now, and allowing the doctor to observe that the detective was indeed intrigued, just as he knew he would be. "I thought you said that we were never playing _Cluedo _again?"

John gave a small, sad smirk and crossed the room to sit in Sherlock's armchair. "Yes, Sherlock, I _did_ say that, and when I said it, I meant it."

"Then what's changed?" Before John had a chance to respond, Sherlock steepled his hands underneath his chin, assuming the pose he usually reserved for deducing somebody, and began speaking before the doctor had a chance to. "Oh, I see. Obvious. You're still annoyed with me over what happened earlier. Really, John, you shouldn't let such things bother you to this degree. Need I remind you that sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side?"

"No, you've pretty much drilled that into my head already, thanks," John retorted sarcastically. "These last few months have certainly served as a reminder of _that_."

Sherlock seemed to ignore him, and continued with his deductions, though there was a momentary pause before he did so. "It seems that you can no longer tolerate my foibles to the same high degree as you could before my... _absence_, since I am doing nothing to deliberately provoke a response from you at present, and yet you are _still _growing ever more frustrated with me. I can see from your increased breathing rate that your pulse is rising, as is the colour in your cheeks. These are all classic signs of anger, but I don't..."

"How can my frustration be a surprise to you, Sherlock, after what you did?" interrupted an indignant John. "_You set fire to my armchair because you were bored!_"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed and reviewed this story so far! Even though I think it could work as one, this story wasn't intended to be a one-shot, and so here's the next chapter!**

"No, I didn't."

John simply pointed at the remnants of his own poor, bedraggled armchair, which was still smoking even though the flames had long since been extinguished. How did Sherlock have the gall to deny what he had done when the evidence was in front of his own eyes?

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes John, I'm perfectly aware that your beloved armchair went up in flames," he drawled. "However, you're wrong to insinuate that I set fire to it '_because I was bored'._ I was bored, and so I decided to conduct an experiment. This experiment involved using a blow torch on something that I had placed on your chair, and as a result, the flames _accidentally_ set fire to it. I don't deny that my actions inadvertently set fire to your armchair, but you're wrong to insinuate that I did it on purpose, out of spite, or even that I decided to set fire to it simply to relieve my boredom."

John sighed impatiently, waving his arm around in a dismissive gesture. "That's just a mere technicality, Sherlock. The point is that you damaged my chair, and you can't even be bothered to apologise for it! Is there any wonder that I get frustrated when I try to help relieve your boredom so that you don't accidentally harm anything else, - or worse, _yourself_ - but you just throw my efforts back in my face?"

Sherlock frowned. "This is not how I wanted this conversation to go."

"Yeah? Well bloody _snap! _And before you ask, no, we're not playing a game of _that!_" John said, raising a hand to silence Sherlock, who had just opened his mouth to respond. The detective wisely closed his mouth again, and the doctor took a few deep, calming breaths before speaking again. "Just out of interest, so that we're clear about it, how exactly _did_ you want this conversation to go?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" asked Sherlock, who looked like he was trying very hard the repress to urge to assume his 'you-really-are-an-idiot' face.

"Yes, apparently you do, and you're not using the '_Scrabble' _board to do it, either!" Sherlock huffed in response but did not begin to speak, evidently growing tired of John's jibes regarding games that the childish detective had either agreed or refused to play. "Well, go on then. Explain. Or, I know, we could do something even better. I'll try and deduce _you_ for a change, yeah? Then you can know how it feels."

Sherlock looked at John, really looked at him. All the signs were there - the doctor was begin deadly serious. There was a strange glint in his eye that rather unnerved Sherlock, but he was intrigued to see how much John's powers of deduction had improved since they became flatmates. Seemingly oblivious to Sherlock's confusion, John took the detective's silence as a 'yes', and began to do just what he had said.


End file.
